


Keep Me Close (Lest I Disappear)

by C4t1l1n4



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Human Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Jaskier gets whisked away by some Fae and Geralt must do what he can to get his bard back. Even if that means awakening some deep primal desire to keep the bard for himself.Slightly feral/possessive/instinctive wolf brain Geralt because that's my jam.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 478





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier gets involved with the Fae again. 

It’s not his fault this time, he swears! 

And, really, it isn’t. 

He just wears bright colors and uses scented soaps and it attracts a lot of attention. Like the way Geralt’s eyes linger on him a little longer when he wears blue or the way diluted camomile appeals to the Witcher’s senses, drawing him to stand closer. 

But it also attracts unwanted attention. Or, rather, unintentional attention. 

Saying that a Fae’s attention is unwanted to their face is just asking for trouble, even Jaskier knows that. 

They’re on their way to the next town, Geralt hoping for a contract as their coin is running low and Jaskier hoping for a nice, soft bed. And maybe a cheerful tavern to play at. He’s been working on a new song lately, and it’s almost ready to perform. He’s fine-tuning some details now, Geralt can hear him from his position on Roach, leading the way on the road, Jaskier’s strumming a constant source of background noise. It annoyed Geralt at first, he isn’t hesitant to admit it, but after years of traveling with he bard, he’s adjusted to it. It’s - dare he say - kind of nice. 

The lute gives an awful tang, but there’s no annoyed huff or comment about the sour note or string of curses alluding to the fact Jaskier is upset at himself that he can’t get it right. There’s nothing. Geralt turns to look at Jaskier, pulling Roach to a stop, but he’s greeted with empty air. He leaps off Roach, looking for what could’ve happened, for a monster to kill or any sign of his bard, but is met with nothing more than laughter, tinkling like bells in the air. 

“Fuck.” 

And so, Geralt ventures into the woods. 

It wasn’t that he was avoiding them so much as hoping they could pass them by without any incident. This is not the case. They were Fae woods, notoriously so, but usually anyone who stays out of them stays out of harm's way. Witchers, and colorful bards he supposes, just attract an extra amount of trouble. He sighs, tense, but doesn’t reach for his swords even as he strays farther from where he left Roach on the road. Fae are intelligent creatures, not to be ruthlessly killed. 

His mind gets hazy, and he stumbles around in the undergrowth for longer than intended, but he’s not giving up on his bard, no matter how many times the trees try to redirect him back towards the exit. He thinks, maybe at some point, they come to some sort of understanding, and the trees eventually clear, as does his mind, and Geralt is gently deposited by a small clearing.

The sight said clearing contains is certainly one to behold. 

Towering trees surround a small area of tall grass, flowers of various kinds littered throughout, like colorful sprinkles on green icing. The sun shines down, bright but relaxing, and a soft breeze scatters through the trees in such a way it barely ruffles his hair, tugging at strands delicately before dropping them. Music filters through the air, tangling with the wind. The scene is so soft and soothing, it’s like it’s designed to lull someone to sleep or at least encourage someone to rest, just for a minute, and enjoy the peaceful atmosphere. 

But Geralt is too busy staring at the scene in front of him. 

Four Fae, human size, but not bothering to hide their other-worldly features, crowd around someone in the middle, wings fluttering softly in harmony with the wind. Geralt cannot see who it is. The Fae are dressed in flower petals, leaves, and jewels, adorned with shiny gemstones hanging from their ears, arms and legs. The bright colors reflect the light, almost seeming to glow. Each has their own color, red and blue, green and purple. 

Red and Purple crowd around the figure in the middle, one on either side, while Blue lounges in front of them, laying on their stomach, feet kicking leisurely in the air. Green stands in front, blocking Geralt’s view, fiddling with something in their hands. Geralt squints his eyes to try and get a better look, but the Green one moves and he doesn’t need to, feet suddenly stuck to the forest floor. 

Jaskier. 

The person in the middle of the cluster of Fae is none other than his bard, Jaskier. 

Jaskier, who is has flowers nestled into his hair. Buttercups and dandelions, daffodils and goldenrods.

Jaskier, who is dripping with jewelry, shining amber in sun. Bracelets and a necklace, an actual thin wire crown tangled with flowers and locks of chestnut hair. 

Jaskier, with rings on his fingers, more so than usual, ear cuffs and a thin choker around his neck. Bangles hanging from his wrists, golden in the sun as they tangle with the other bracelets there, and something gleams from near his feet. 

Jaskier, who shifts as he plays. _He_ is the mysterious source of music, voice ringing out through the clearing, deft flickering plucking at the strings of his lute, performance unhindered by his adornments. 

The amber colors harmonize with the blue of his doublet, and something primal stirs up inside Geralt as he stares at the scene in front of him, causing him to take an involuntary step forward. 

Immediately, as he steps away from the shelter of the trees and reveals himself in the light of the glistening sun, the atmosphere is broken. All the Fae turn to focus on him, as an intruder, as a threat, eyes narrow and distrusting as they see the swords on his back. The spell seems to have broken and the music starts to filter out. 

The Green Fae turns their gaze back to Jaskier, moving behind him and settling the bard into their lap. They say something too soft for Geralt to hear and thread long fingers through his chestnut hair, and suddenly cornflower eyes are being drawn away from Geralt, attention back to playing. Soon, music fills the still air once more. 

The primal thing inside Geralt stirs, upset once more, and he clenches his teeth but doesn’t growl like the thing demands. The thing fusses, but doesn’t push any harder, and instead curls itself in Geralt’s chest. 

“Witcher.” The Blue says falsely polite, pushing themself into a sitting position. Red and Purple seem to share the same sentiment, but it behooves a Fae to be impolite, so they keep their faces neutral and tone light. Geralt firmly ignores the way the thing in his chest fumes at the fact that Green does not pull their attention away from Jaskier to offer a greeting. 

“Fae.” He says nodding in return, speaking kindly through gritted teeth. 

“Is there something you need?” The Purple asks passively, taking an almost bored tone as if they weren’t keeping something very important from him. 

“I’d like my bard back please.” He says. 

The Fae exchange looks, chittering with each other, but the chittering turns into bell-like laughter, and the thing in his chest stirs in something akin to fury. Geralt doesn’t react. 

“Hmmm,” Red pretends to think for a moment, tapping their chin. “No.” They say, staring at the Witcher directly, eyes dark. 

“He is his own bard, is he not?” The Blue chimes. 

The thing in his chest screams, _No, he is mine. My bard, my Jaskier!_ but he does not voice these thoughts. “If he is his own bard,” he says instead “He may do whatever he wants.” The Fae narrow their eyes at him once more but don’t say anything. “I would like my bard back.” Geralt repeats 

“But he is pretty.” The Blue whines, picking at the grass frustratedly. 

“And he plays so well.” Chimes another.

“And we only just got him!” Laments a third, acting much like a child with a toy. 

Geralt sighs. The thing inside his chest twists with annoyance, begging to just kill these Fae, to take their bard and leave. “I’m not leaving without my bard.” Geralt says instead. The thing inside him settles, placated at the words for now. The threat is at very least implied, so it will still for now, but the weight of it remains heavy against his lungs, threatening to cloud his brain. 

The Fae chitter among themselves once more, and for a second Geralt thinks they will disagree again. But the Green speaks up from their place behind Jaskier. “What will you give us in return for what we will lose?” 

Geralt hesitates. He doesn’t have anything, no material gift to give, nothing on his back except his armor and his swords. “What would you like?” He asks, and the Fae’s eyes glint with mischief. 

“Give us a secret.” 

The four Fae stare at him expectantly, and Geralt eyes his bard in their grasp. His secret must be worthy enough to trade his bard for, so it must be worth something. Something he has never told anyone, wasn’t planning to tell anyone. Jaskier continues to play, seemingly out of tune with what is taking place. 

“Okay.” He says and steels himself. “I’m in love with Jaskier.” 

The Fae crow in obvious delight, clapping and chittering excitedly. 

“A Witcher in love.” 

“With a bard.” 

“With the Bard!” 

“Well, we shan’t be cruel enough to keep you apart, now should we.” They crow, hauling Jaskier to his feet and guiding him over to the edge of the clearing. The four Fae deposit him gently into Geralt’s arms, allowing the hazy bard to rest against Geralt’s chest, barely able to stand by himself. 

“Take good care of him, Witcher.” They warn, wings fluttering. 

“It will take a while for our magic to leave his mind.” 

“But he will be unharmed by our adventure.” 

“And tell him…”

The Fae trade turns talking, voices overlapping, finishing each other's sentences and trains of thought. 

“Yes, tell him.”

“And tell him that we enjoyed his music.”

“He is free to play for us anytime.” 

“Now, Witcher.” The Green one says, staring up at him earnestly. “Take him and go. Quell the beast in your chest.” They say, and Geralt feels rather bare as if the Fae see right through him and into the turmoil in his brain. 

“Be at peace.” 

The Purple Fae holds out Jaskier’s lute, and Geralt gently swings it on his shoulder, making sure not to scratch its wood on his swords. Jaskier is limp in his arms, so Geralt pulls him up into a bridal carry, the thing in his chest delighting in letting his bard sleep tucked close to his chest. 

“Thank you.” He says sincerely, looking each Fae in the eye. They simply smile, teeth sharp, but expression genuine. They have made peace with one another, or so it seems and the Fae disappear, leaving nothing behind except the sound of laughter, tinkling like bells in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask and you shall receive. More Jaskier, Geralt figuring out this thing in his chest, and them getting together.

Geralt finds Roach with relative ease, right where he left her. 

The forest guides him right to the road, clearing its floor from roots and leaves, making the journey as easy as possible. Roach snorts and huffs, stomping her foot at being abandoned, and Geralt has no concept of how much time has passed. It seems to be mid-afternoon, so had they been gone only for a few hours, or had days passed? He isn’t sure. 

His priority right now, however, is finding a place where Jaskier can sleep off the rest of the Fae’s magic undisturbed. He isn’t sure how far the next town is, all information in his mind is jumbled by the thing pacing in his chest, unsettled at Jaskier’s unconscious form, worried even though the bard is only asleep. He could’ve taken refuge in the Fae’s forest, he supposes, but wouldn’t want to outstay his welcome and test the bounds of their delicate arrangement, so he settles both of them on Roach’s back instead. The thing in his chest demands he pull Jaskier closer, to allow the bard in front of him to rest against his chest, to trap his sleeping body in their arms, and Geralt allows himself to do so, just this once. 

The thing growls, delighted but unsettled, their position too similar to the situation years ago with the Djinn. He only allows Jaskier to ride Roach when he’s hurt, and the thing in his chest demands he be nicer to their human, to their bard, clenching at his heart. He finds his gaze drifting a few times, down to Jaskier’s doublet, checking it for bright splatters of red blood. He is relieved every time to find nothing but amber jewelry adorning his body. The thing settles for pacing restlessly in his chest, heavy footprints squishing his lungs, lashing tail tugging at his heart. 

They don’t make it to the next town. 

Night falls too quickly and the thing in Geralt’s chest is too close to the surface, too influential on his actions to be around strange humans, too prone to lash out without Jaskier as his usual mediator. But they are far enough from the Fae woods, Geralt thinks, that they should be able to find refuge under the trees with no problem at all. 

The thing in his chest grows more restless the longer Jaskier remains asleep, impatient and angry, wanting to take action, to do things that Geralt has not allowed himself to do. It screams and growls and crushes his lungs, scratches at his heart, mixes with his brain. It’s different from being in the Fae woods, he’s not being influenced by an outside source, but instead is mingling with a deeper part of himself that is normally only summoned by potions. He supposes that the Fae magic could’ve had a similar effect, wearing off what little humanity he had, but the thing in his chest is not going away like it normally does when his potions wear off. It stays, persistent, demanding to be heard. 

Geralt ignores it. 

He hopes there is a contract at the next town. He needs to kill something. Get this thing out of his system. Get it to settle, uncoil from his chest and disappear to where it normally rests, dormant. For now, however, he does his best to ignore it, ignore its whines to stay with his bard, to protect, to adore, to provide. He instead, sets up camp, settling Jaskier on a bedroll, and starting a fire. 

When he finishes, he still has too much pent up energy, the thing pacing restless and annoyed, stuck between protect and provide. Like a switch half flipped, balancing between staying to watch over his bard and leaving to go hunt for food. Geralt stands, stares for a moment, then huffs, a growl emanating from the thing in his chest and escaping from his throat. The switch is flipped, and Geralt storms off, sword in hand, searching for something to kill for them to eat. 

When he comes back, Jaskier is awake, blinking blearily at his surroundings. Cloudy blue eyes eventually land on where the Witcher stands, and the deer he caught is unceremoniously dropped to the ground with a thud. He has no way to explain that his sword is clean, while blood drips from gloveless hand, but it doesn’t matter right now, because the thing in his chest is too busy being satisfied at Jaskier being awake, waiting for him with trust glimmering in his eyes, still covered in shiny amber jewelry. It curls in pure delight that the urge to provide is fulfilled and that his bard is awake and just sitting there and is so pretty, golden hues glimmering in the firelight. 

“What happened?” Jaskier asks, breaking the silence with his soft, sleep-filled voice. 

Geralt isn’t sure what he’s referring to, the Fae incident or the Witcher’s current feral-like-state, but picks the safer of the two. 

“Fae.” He says, sitting nearby and starting to work on the deer. 

Jaskier shifts even more, now sitting properly upright and stretching his stiff muscles as he rids the sleep from his mind. Geralt’s eyes linger on his form as he does so, attention temporarily drawn away from the deer, but he quickly averts his gaze back to his work to avoid being caught. 

He avoids how smug the thing in his chest is, that Jaskier is his, his human, his bard, even though that isn’t actually the case. What is it the Fae had said about Jaskier being his own person?

“I’m going to need details.” Jaskier presses. “You can’t just tell me that we had an adventure with the Fae and leave it at that. Especially when my brain is all foggy and I can barely tell my right from my left, let alone remember anything that happened.”

“The Fae kidnapped you and I got you back.” He says simply. 

Jaskier splutters for a second, unable to form words. “I- They kidnapped me?!” 

“Said your music was good. That you could go back anytime you wanted.”

“Wow…” 

“You’re not though.” 

“What?” Jaskier asks, suddenly feeling off-kilter, confused at the harshness in the Witcher’s voice. 

“Going back,” Geralt clarifies, looking over the fire to Jaskier, the thing stirring in his chest in a jealous rage at the thought of Jaskier leaving him for the Fae once more. 

“Why not?” The bard challenges. 

“Because…” Geralt trails off, the thing in his chest big and loud and pressing, squeezing his lungs, engulfing his brain with its anger. He growls, but doesn’t say the words the thing wants him to, doesn’t speak the phrases being shoved up his throat, demanding to be released from behind rows of teeth. Instead, he drops the deer, opting to stare at the blood on his hands. 

Jaskier’s eyes narrow, confused, and concerned. “Geralt?” He asks, voice soft. 

The thing whines that they’ve upset him, worried him, and finally manages to force words past gritted teeth. “The Fae magic is messing with me.” He admits finally. “I- hmmm.” 

The deer is pretty much done now, just needs to be cooked, but the blood drips from his hands and he needs to get away to clear his mind. He abruptly stands, and it’s not until he’s already storming away that he realizes he hasn’t given a reason for his sudden departure. The thing bubbles under his skin, whining to be let out, to be satisfied, but he shoves it down with a renewed vengeance, letting the water of the nearby stream clean his hands. 

He doesn’t realize Jaskier had followed him until he hears footsteps behind him, and catches a whiff of his camomile soap, mixing with his natural scent and the flowers on his head. Jaskier comes to a stop just beside him, standing hesitantly nearby, but doesn’t say anything, just letting them indulge in silence as Geralt washes his hands. Poor Jaskier, selfless Jaskier, human Jaskier, who has no idea what is going on, how they got here, or why Geralt is acting the way he is but is being soft and patient with him all the same. 

The thing in his chest tumbles over itself, pleased at having such a good mate. 

And then something like lightning runs through his veins, electrifying his brain at the use of such a word, and everything finally clicks for him. His inner wolf, his inner instincts. The thing in his chest. And he’s tired of fighting with it and lets it flood his system. His wolf is soft and proud. It will not hurt his mate. 

A gentle hand rests on his shoulder, and Jaskier’s tentative voice rings throughout the air. “Geralt?” The bard asks, and it’s only now that the Witcher realizes he is tense. 

His wolf sighs. No need for that and his body relaxes. He rises to his feet and turns to look at Jaskier, his bard, his _mate_ , taking a second just to look at him. The jewelry he is still adorned with glimmers in the light of the moon, filtering through the trees and haloing him in beauty. The flowers in his hair remain as lively as ever, and he is as pretty as he always is, but cornflower eyes pool with concern, and his mate shouldn’t worry. 

He draws Jaskier into his arms, holds him close, and leans down to bury his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, drawing a deep breath of the bard’s scent. The thing in his chest lessens, just the tiniest of bits, and something akin to satisfaction settles over his body like a blanket. He draws Jaskier up into his arms similar to how he had done earlier and carries them back to their campsite. 

“Geralt!?” Jaskier squeaks, confused for a different reason, but Geralt just settles them both down on the bedroll, Jaskier in between his legs so that they can look at each other. 

The Witcher’s hands are still wet from the stream, but they are not bloody, so he delicately plucks at the jewelry Jaskier wears. Piece by piece the amber is removed, necklaces, rings, bracelets, and bangles. The crown from his head, careful not to tug at locks of chestnut hair or to damage the flowers intertwined, the jewelry from his ears, the cuff around his left ankle. Finally, the bard is free of it all, every piece set aside carefully, somewhere safe so it could be worn again, not to get lost in the soil. Jaskier is just himself again, all bright hues and blues, calmer, if not still confused, but the thing in his chest lessens even more until Geralt can breathe again. He pulls Jaskier closer, cradling him against his chest, holding him close. 

“Sing something.” Geralt demands, voice rough and almost not his own, and Jaskier startles at the request. 

“Oh, well…” He hums, thinking. “I was going to debut my newest song at the next tavern, but I suppose I could-“ 

“Sing it.” Geralt’s voice rumbles, softer this time, politer. 

Jaskier huffs out something like a chuckle. “Well, alright then. But you have to give me the details of our Fae adventure.”

“Deal.” Geralt promises. 

And so, Jaskier sings. 

Geralt hooks his chin over the bard's shoulder, nosing at the place behind one of his ears. Jaskier’s voice changes for a bit, higher and caught off guard, and Geralt smiles. He nips at the junction of the bard’s neck, mouthing at the back of his neck, earning himself a frustrated whine. 

“How am I supposed to sing if you mean to distract me like that?” He exclaims, trying to hide his flustered embarrassment under indignant anger. 

Geralt hums. “Sorry.” He says, though he doesn’t sound it, but he resigns himself to just resting on the bard’s shoulder and letting their scents mingle as they sit this close together. 

Eventually, the thing in his chest quiets, and Geralt can truly relax, sagging a bit and loosening his hold on his bard, the purring in his chest coming to a stop. Jaskier stops singing, shifting a bit. 

“Are you doing better now?” He asks, tinges of worry lingering in his gaze. 

Geralt wills it to go away. He hums and nods. 

“What was that?” Jaskier questions, but there is no dismay or disgust, just genuine curiosity. 

“Hmmm, Wolf.” 

Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Wolf?” His eyes flicker down to the medallion resting on the Witcher’s chest and back up to his face. 

“Thinks you’re…” He grimaces like he doesn’t want to say it. “Uh, mate.” He admits shyly. 

“Is that bad?” Jaskier asks, something like hurt floating in his voice. “Do you not like that?” 

“No,” Geralt is quick to correct. “Just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Jaskier shifts to face him more directly. “That wasn’t uncomfortable at all.” He says earnestly, cornflower eyes staring into shy golden ones. “That was very soft and nice. It was peaceful and relaxing, and I knew I was cared for.” 

“Good.” Geralt says quietly, ducking his head, and Jaskier smiles. 

“Dear heart,” Jaskier says, placing a finger under the Witcher’s chin and forcing him to look at him. “I’ll love you no matter what oddities you may have." 

A happy rumble escapes his chest before he has a chance to stop it, and Jaskier laughs, delighted. “Yes, Dear heart, I love you too.” 

Geralt leans forward slowly, giving Jaskier the chance to back out if he wants, but he bard meets him half-way and kisses him. Finally, as they kiss for a second and third time, the thing in his chest dissolves, and he no longer feels the weight on his lungs or its interference in his brain. 

“I believe,” Jaskier says, reaching for his notebook and pulling it into his lap. “I was promised a story.” He leans back, settling himself against Geralt once more. 

“Is that so?” Geralt laughs softly, arms loosely wrapped around his bard’s waist. 

“Yes. A certain one about a handsome Witcher, a damsel bard, and some mysterious Fae.” 

“Hmmm, I think it might be able to do that. But there’s a price.”

“A price?” Jaskier’s voice fills with mirth. “And what might that be?”

“A kiss.” 

“Hmmm,” Jaskier says, coping Geralt’s words from earlier. “I think I can do that.”

And so, in the shimmering light of the moon and by the crackling light of the fire, they kiss once more.


End file.
